


you're taking up a fraction of my mind

by TheSushiMonster



Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2018-11-07 09:33:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 13,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11056203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSushiMonster/pseuds/TheSushiMonster
Summary: A Rosaline/Benvolio collection of drabbles.





	1. Great Difficulty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Rosaline and Benvolio domestic Request. Them discussing their social obligations and maybe not exactly hating each other."

Rosaline paced.

“Will you please stop that incessant - “

“In order for us to steal enough time to fool the Prince and our uncles, we need to continue this farce. Pretend to be married.” She grimaced, her skirts twirling around her ankles when she spun. “Pretend to tolerate each other.”

Benvolio, hands crossed behind his head, stretched out on the bed, crossing his ankles. “What a task that will be.”

Rosaline shoved his feet off the sheets on her next pass. “Obviously, affection will need to be gradual. Hand holding, touches and the like - “ He hoped she did not notice the way his chest flipped at her words. “But conversation - that will be important. If we suddenly cease to fight completely - “

“They will recognize it as a farce.” Benvolio leaned against his knees, still watching her move in patterns across his bed chamber. How she had even gotten in - “My parents used to bicker,” he says, smiling slightly. Finally, she paused, tilting her head. “They loved each other completely - but somedays, they could not bare to be in the same room.” 

Rosaline smiled too, and Benvolio decided he liked the sight. “They were not afraid to challenge each other.”

A long ago memory - a plead to his Aunt, before tragic events, when marriage options seemed endless - “Yes.” He stood, leaning against the bedpost, as Rosaline remained by his balcony door. “The key, it seemed, was in tone.”

The corners of her lips twitched. “Is that to mean I could insult you, but if I lace my words with honey, then it would be in affection and not hatred?”

Stepping closer to her, he tried not to grin. “It appears so. But it will be with great difficulty that I soften my voice when I speak to you.” Indeed, she rose the temperature in his blood with ease, particularly when her voice rose to indecent levels.

“And it will be difficult for me to pretend I want to kiss that cheek and not slap it.” Rosaline moved forward. “But I suppose - “

“For the good of Verona - “

“We must.”

He found it most difficult, however, to look away from her eyes. And she - she did not look away either, although there was no smile on her lips or his; and in that moment, with her fingers tangled in her the clasp of her cloak and her whispers still lingering in the air, Benvolio sighed. “I have faith in our abilities.”


	2. One Person

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "rosvolio high school au"

They had asked her to announce the spirit day themes during half-time. At the time, Rosaline had no issues - but now, with the clock winding down in the first half and the band preparing for their set, the nerves settle in quickly.

Livia nudges her. “You’ll be fine. It’s just an announcement. You do that in the mornings all the time.”

“This is different,” says Rosaline, sitting on her hands in front of the bleachers. The away team is right in front of them, screaming as their teammate rushes forward towards the endzone. “This is in front of _real people.”_

Snorting, her sister shakes her head. “You knew what you were getting into when you joined student council.” Her grin widens and Rosaline groans as the teams head back to their locker rooms. The crowd cheers on its feet, celebrating the home team’s current lead. Livia leans closer. “And you’re senior class president. Come on, girl.”

“You’re not helping.” Rosaline watches the band - not as good as last year, but definitely better than her freshmen year - play their set, before her eyes catch on movement from the benches in front of her. 

She quickly recognizes the figure taking pictures of the away stands across the field. 

“Isn’t that your best friend? The other school board rep?” teases Livia, pointing. Rosaline groans. “Of course he goes to away games.”

“He doesn’t miss one,” grumbles Rosaline under her breath. Of course, she tries her best to support her school’s athletics - but _he_  takes it to a whole new level. “I’m gonna head down so I can avoid him.”

Livia just laughs.

The nerves grow in her stomach, acidic bubbling threatening to spill from her throat. She takes in a deep breath at the bottom of the bleachers, people milling all around. Pulling out her phone, she quickly opens the note she had made - she’s just announcing spirit days, nothing fancy, but her hands still shake as she scrolls through the apps. And just before she considers asking someone else - maybe her cousin Juliet, head cheerleader and junior class president - to take her place, a shadow crosses over her. 

When Rosaline looks up, she groans, loudly.

Benvolio grins. “Is that anyway to greet a colleague?” He peers down at her phone before she can stash it away. “Making an announcement? In front of a crowd?” His surprise annoys her, so she glares, despite the setting sun in her eyes. “That’s new.”

“Don’t you have to get back to _your_  student section? On the other side of the field?” She crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m surprised they didn’t bring baby powder this time.”

“Oh believe me,” he says, still grinning brightly. It’s annoying. “They tried. Admin shut that one down, especially after last year.”

“Serves them right, they _ruined_ the field. Pretty sure the school had to pay some huge fines for that.”

Benvolio shrugs. “We won an intense game. It happens.” He leans against the fence, as the band winds down. Her stomach flickers. “I’m honestly more surprised there was no prank this year.”

“We agreed to a truce, remember?” Rosaline shifts her weight onto her other foot. “Or do you not trust me?”

“Oh I trust _you_ ,” says Benvolio, that smirk growing on his face again. “It’s just your classmates I don’t trust.” The announcer calls for more applause of the band. Rosaline grips her phone in her hands tighter, nodding when she’s waved forward. Before she can move forward, however, Benvolio reaches for her, hand resting on her shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Just pick one person and talk to them.”

His hand is heavy. And his body is hot, especially the late September, and she can feel her hair crackling. Her throat is dry.

And then he blinks and steps back, and a breeze washes over them. “Thanks.” She slides past him, not trusting herself to look back. Her stomach flutters, but is mostly calm.

(When she stands on stage, microphone in hand, proudly announcing their voted on spirit days, Rosaline stares at a blurry figure sitting on the rival team’s bench.)


	3. Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Rosvolio wedding night request; Benvolio assures Rosaline that they don't have to consummate their marriage"

 

 

_Day 0._

Her hand tenses in his the moment the door shuts behind them. The ribbon wrapped around their wrists burns, digging into her skin. Ignoring the sight of the bed, large and clean and imposing, Rosaline turns to Benvolio.

Her husband.

_Her husband._

Before she can say anything - what, exactly, she would have said she’s not certain - Benvolio speaks first. “I do not expect us to consummate our marriage.” His voice is low, and he looks at her feet and not her eyes, and even though the pit in her stomach quickly loosens, Rosaline frowns.

“I cannot expect - “

He shakes his head. “ _I_  cannot expect - “ his head shakes harder, perfectly combed hair flying across his forehead, “I know and understand your feelings about this marriage.” His face softens for a second and Rosaline wants to snap the ribbon still tying them together. But quickly, he appears blank-faced, almost stern. “I do not wish to defile our marriage bed with such a loveless act.”

Rosaline blinks. The surprise is not unexpected; the slight bit of disappointment, however, certainly is. But rather than dwell on confusing emotions, she nods and begins untwined their hands.

The ribbon falls to the floor quietly.

 

_Day 1._

They sleep side by side, in their nightgowns. Sometimes, Rosaline thinks about drawing closer, stealing his warmth in the middle of the night. But then he turns, or sighs, or smiles in his sleep - and instead, she watches him before her own restlessness subsides.

 

_Day 5._

It is Livia, unsurprisingly, who notices first.

“You have not consummated your relationship.” Her eyes are tired, wrinkles scattered across her skin, much too early for her young age. Fingering the lace in her lap, her sister frowns, eyes never wavering. “This is your decision?”

“It is mutual,” says Rosaline, except the words stick to her teeth like too sweet honey. “We do not love each other.” She keeps her back to Livia, unwilling to show how much the confession stings on her tongue. 

At this, Livia laughs - but it is not light and airy, but harsh and barking. “Love?” She shakes her head and a softness returns to her lips. “How far you have come, dear sister.” She leans forwards, tilting her head. “But you know as well as I do that duty comes before love.”

Rosaline knows this intimately. But, if she is honest with herself, it is not the lack of love that keeps her from giving every part of herself to her new husband - it is his lack of interest.

 

_Day 7._

Benvolio returns home - to their bed chambers, to her - late.

She puts aside her book on the nightstand, steeling herself to finally make the confession echoing through her mind - when she notices his face.

Echoes of her wedding night - _their_ wedding night - in that briefest moments of softness, now remaining in his features -

Perhaps he understood what she meant to tell him that night. Or perhaps she understands that if he’s no longer hiding, it must mean that what she wished is true.

Whatever the reason, Rosaline does not make it off the bed before Benvolio is before her, holding her, caressing her, kissing her.

A week later, but they consummate their marriage on that same large, clean, and imposing bed; and when they finish, tangled and naked, he whispers into her hair and Rosaline smiles.

 


	4. To Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "80. “Teach me?” Rosvolio"

She bit her lip. Benvolio wished she wouldn’t.

“Teach me?” 

The reflection of her eyes on his blade dried his throat. As he struggled to find the words - _to fight? Are you sure?_ \- Rosaline watched him, drawing closer, only his sword between them.

Benvolio found his voice between deep breaths. “If you are certain.”

But of course, as she nodded and grinned, her smile’s reflection even brighter, she was. He had no reason to deny her request - Rosaline was his friend, and he wished to protect her, but he understood she also had a grave need to protect herself. So, if he must teach her to ensure her safety - then, he would.

“Shall we begin?” she asks, startling him, for her face was eager and excited. Benvolio shook his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Today?” He tugged his sword gently out of her hands. “Unfortunately, we need to get you a blade of your own, first.” He sheathed his weapon, reveling in the sound of metal safely tucked away. “But after that - “

His voice drowned in her dark curls, his nose too busy breathing in her scent to breathe anything else. She was small and warm in his arms, but mostly she fit perfectly, and he embraced her tighter. “Thank you,” she whispered into his chest. It tickled his skin, despite the layers, and Benvolio forced himself to separate just slightly.

To separate just enough to smile at her. “For you? Of course.”


	5. slip under my armor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My friends were once - acquaintances - of his friends.” Bianca glances over at him, but he shakes his head as Rosaline raises her eyebrow. “But do not worry - rumors are that Benvolio is a gracious lover as well.”
> 
> If he could set himself on fire, he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: implied abusive relationship.

When he had convinced Rosaline to take a break from their searching, to have a drink with him, he had expected her to say no.

But, of course, Rosaline surprises him. She says yes and points to the first tavern in their path. Benvolio swallows his unease and follows her inside.

He regrets the decision almost immediately.

“Sir!” A woman he vaguely recognizes beams at him, glasses of ale in both hands. She glances warily over at Rosaline, but her smile does not waver. “It has been too long, sir Montague.” The way she says his name - a flicker of a memory, and then - 

“Lady Bianca,” he says, his face straining. He does not look at Rosaline, who sips her drink. “It has been some time.”

Bianca’s face falls suddenly. “I’m sorry about your cousin, sir. And Sir Mercutio - they did not deserve to be killed by those horrid - “

Benvolio quickly clears his throat. “Have you met my betrothed? Lady - “

“Rosaline Capulet,” says Rosaline, finally, and Benvolio admires the way she smiles smoothly and how her eyes glitter with slight amusement. “Now, please, tell us - how do you two know each other?”

His admiration quickly turns to irritation. _Of course_  she seeks to embarrass him. “That is none of your concern - “

“My friends were once -  _acquaintances_ \- of his friends. According to them, they acquainted multiple times.” Bianca keeps her voice low and level, as if what she discusses is not completely scandalous. She glances over at him, but he shakes his head as Rosaline raises her eyebrow. “But do not worry - rumors are that Benvolio is a gracious lover as well.”

If he could set himself on fire, he would.

Instead, Rosaline, grinning wider as he sinks into his seat and taking longer sips of ale, leans into the table. “Now, I hate to be a gossip, dear Bianca - but you see, Benvolio is much too modest. I’m sure you’ve heard of his reputation.”

When Bianca frowns in confusion, Benvolio wishes he could replace Romeo in his crypt. “Of course - but Benvolio himself has never took part in the same affairs that Sirs Mercutio or Romeo did. No, he would drunkenly pace the alleyways.”

“Bianca, why don’t you leave us?” He doesn’t mean to be harsh, but he feels like he may explode, especially with the way Rosaline now looks at him, with a mixture of emotions dancing across her face. Bianca glances between them but quickly scatters. “Please do not - “

“You are supposed to be the male equivalent of a whore.” The emotions have faded and now Rosaline studies him with mere curiosity. He decides to drink more to avoid her gaze. “But instead, it appears that is not the case.”

Benvolio closes his eyes. He sighs. When he opens them again, Rosaline has not changed her expression. “Mercutio and Romeo - trouble seemed to follow them - and as their brother - “

Her smile is soft and Benvolio feels calmer. “I understand.” She finishes her glass and lightly places it back on the table. “We should be leaving. This break was quite enlightening, but we have to get back to work.”

He nods. He reaches for his coins to pay.

“Benvolio!”

His head snaps up as he spins around, the loud and demanding voice of his Uncle immediately calling his attention. Beside him, Rosaline quickly snatches his purse from his hands to toss coins onto the table. “Yes, sir?” He ignores how his back tenses and how Rosaline frowns at him when they move towards the doorway.

Lord Montague blocks the exit. “Have you lost your mind?” he hisses as he grabs Benvolio’s arm. His uncle drags him away from the tavern, towards the opening of an alleyway. Benvolio does not need to turn back to know that Rosaline follows them.

“Uncle - “

Lord Montague steps closer, so that he towers over Benvolio, face red and breath harsh. “Despite everything, _you_  are the heir of the Montague house. There are expectations you must fulfill. Taking your future wife to meet prior conquests - “

“That was not what Benvolio was doing, Lord Montague.” And before Benvolio can process what is happening - his breathing is too heavy, his fingers tense around the handle of his sword, his legs preparing to run - Rosaline steps right beside Benvolio, slightly nudging him away from his uncle. “We were merely having a drink.”

If a woman had ever spoken to him this way before, Lord Montague did not appear to have learned from it. Instead, he glares at her, and Benvolio notices immediately that his fist clenches. 

Benvolio tenses.

“You do not have to pretend that my nephew did not take you here in an attempt to make you jealous - to win you over after your dreadful behavior the previous night.” Lord Montague steps back and Benvolio releases a breath as Rosaline draws closer to him still.

“I am not jealous,” says Rosaline, voice level. Benvolio admires her ability to stand straight and meet his uncle’s eyes - how her own eyes shine with determination, hiding what must be anger. “I am impressed.”

Benvolio wants to embrace her, in that very moment; because he understands - Rosaline, like he, values loyalty. Perhaps it is then that she slips under his armor and lodges herself in his chest.

Lord Montague narrows his eyes. “You truly are a harpy.”

Although Benvolio’s vision is clouded in red, his fists stay at his side. Rosaline’s hand tightly grasps his wrists. Instead, he grits his teeth. “If that is all, Uncle, I will now walk Lady Rosaline back to her home.”

There’s a moment where Benvolio expects his uncle to deny them - to berate him further, to threaten him, to remind him who _is_  still Lord of the household... but then Lord Montague turns on his heel and disappears with his guard.

Benvolio breathes.

“I do not like your uncle,” says Rosaline, releasing his wrist. Without meaning to, he rubs the skin she had just released.

Benvolio shrugs, looking above her shoulder. “I do not like him much either.”

They do not discuss it any further.


	6. Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "“Are you still awake…?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based slightly on some book spoilers, but I don’t think you’d notice if you haven’t read it.

“Are you still awake?”

The hard ground is wet, and the cloak beneath her cools her. She shivers and strains her neck back towards him. “Yes.”

Benvolio does not move closer to her, but he feels closer, as if his chest is right against her back. Rosaline can feel his warmth, aches for it even - but that is because it is cold outside, in their makeshift camp. It has nothing to do with the man himself.

Sighing, she turns to face him, but when she does she realizes he’s _very_  close - when she curls her arm in front of her chest, her elbow knocks against his. If he notices or cares, he makes no remark. “Tell me a story,” she says, as she scoots backwards slightly, only to put distance between them and not to allow him space on top of the cloaks.

Benvolio snorts. His face flickers in the moonlight. “Romeo was the story-teller.”

“But Romeo is not here.” Her fingers draw spirals on the ground. “You are.”

When he says nothing, just looking at her as the darkness around them grows thicker, Rosaline fears she’s overstepped. But then he sighs loudly. “Fine. There once was a boy. He had two best friends. They died. His city broke out into riots. He was forced to go on the run with a woman who hates him. The end.”

“I do not hate you, Benvolio.” She frowns, lifting her head to see him better. Ignoring the squeezing in her chest, she tilts his head upwards. “If I hated you, I would not be here with you.”

Another pause, another moment where Rosaline wonders why she continues to speak without thinking. Something about Benvolio - her mouth feels looser around him. 

Fortunately, she feels him smile, slowly. “I do not hate you either.” Carefully, he stokes his finger along hers; she quickly pulls back her hand. “We should sleep. We will have to travel far tomorrow.”

“Of course.” 

This time, facing him and absorbing his warmth as he blocks the wind from reaching her, Rosaline sleeps.


	7. marriages are not about love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Can you write about Benvolio confessing his love for Rosaline?" Except, with a twist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book does such a PERFECT JOB of this that in no way could I even compare. I suspect the show will also do an excellent job. So, because of this, I decided to switch up the prompt.

The silence in the cemetery threatened to strangle him.

The painted _harlot_  had long since been washed away, but Benvolio still saw the words shining back at him when he studied the statue. Juliet had been beautiful, of that he was certain, but the way the rock and metal immortalized her - she now appeared like a goddess. 

Inhuman.

When footsteps reached his ears, he straightened, hand ready by his side.

But Rosaline stepped out of the shadows and he relaxed.

Her eyebrow raised so elegantly and Benvolio rolled his eyes in anticipation. “Startled?” she said, kneeling beside him. The wet dirt already caked onto his clothes joined hers.

“Of course.” Benvolio did not even consider lying in attempt to protect his pride. It would be no use anyway. “We are in a cemetery after sundown.”

Rosaline did not answer, instead removing the blackened flowers over Romeo’s grave and replacing them with fresh ones. “Uncle tells me you are to be married in a fortnight.”

His fingers tensed in his lap. He could not bare to face her, so he studied the paling moon instead. “Apparently so.”

“She seemed… kind.” Benvolio looked at her, because her tone was suddenly strained. She, however, continued outlining the words graved onto the tombstone. “I’m sure it will be a great match.”

“Perhaps.” Despite his earlier convictions to keep his feelings to himself, something about the moment, the moonlight - her - allowed words to escape his throat. “But I do not love her.”

Rosaline snapped to face him. Her eyes glittered and his heart, likely, stopped. “Marriage is not about love. It is about - “

“Duty. Politics.” Despite himself, Benvolio leaned closer. “The brain, not the heart, makes alliances.”

When her gaze flickered downwards to his lips, Benvolio believed himself to imagining it. The distance between them shrunk even further and his chest ached. And when Rosaline spoke, her breathe mingled with his. “If marriages were about love, then we would be married.”

Romeo once described his first with meeting Juliet. He would weave poetry, speaking of how everything else would fade away, the world would stop spinning, and all that mattered, in that very moment, was her.

And finally, Benvolio understood.

Everything else - the quiet of the tombstones, the cold air, the slivers of moonlight, the ache in his back and knees - faded. The world stood still. All that mattered, in that very moment - was Rosaline.

Rosaline, who did not move, just staring at him, her lips mere inches from him. He could hear her breathing, could imagine hearing her heartbeat in time with his own. But when he finally - _finally_  - moved to bridge the gap between them, she moved.

She moved away from him, eyes never wavering from his, and shook her head. “But marriages are not about love.”

And she stood and left.

Romeo also once described heartbreak. How it would feel like glass flowed through his veins, remnants of his shattered heart, cutting at him from the inside out. How everything seemed a little darker, a little sadder, a little more cold.

Benvolio shivered. Finally, he understood that too.


	8. you're the worst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Rosvolio + "Looks like we'll be stuck here for a while."   
> BONUS: Rosvolio + "Mod AU. University students, both members of rival greek houses or their associates. There’s a Get Along Party that the two are forced to host together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, basically, this is a Greek AU. Oops?

“So…” Benvolio turned to face her, keeping his expression carefully neutral. “Looks like we’ll be stuck here for a while.”

If she didn’t need him to ensure the livelihood of her sorority, Rosaline would have likely killed him.

“What do you mean we’re _stuck_?” Doing her best to keep her voice low, she stepped toward him. Benvolio stepped back, his back hitting the closet door. “We have almost _forty guests_  arriving - with dates! - in less than an hour, the caterers aren’t here yet, no one set up _any_  of the drinks or appetizers and - “

“Rosaline.” He closed the distance, hands on her shoulders. She felt her breath leave her. “It’ll be fine. Mercutio and Romeo said they’d help out.”

Rosaline snorted, very unladylike. “ _Please_. Like they could plan a party. They wouldn’t even get out of bed without _you_ dragging them to class _.”_

The corners of his lips tugged upwards and suddenly Rosaline realized what she had said. “Was that a compliment?”

“No,” she said quickly, shaking off his hands. She turned, studying the pantry walls, looking for something that could help them escape. “It was a fact. Your friends are irresponsible and lazy. You’re… not.”

“Sounds like a compliment to me.” His voice sounded smug. She hated that. “And they’re not _irresponsible_. They just have - different priorities.” When she continued to ignore him, testing the strength of a plastic knife, he sighed. “Can’t you call one of your friends or something? Your sister?”

Rosaline glared as she pushed him aside to get access to the door knob. It locked from the outside, but maybe she could unscrew the handle all together. “You were the one who wanted my phone to ‘mix up the music selection,’” she air-quoted him, her face twisted and Benvolio chuckled. Rosaline bit back a smile, a little bit of warmth rising from her chest as she worked with the doorknob.

“You realize that this is a frat house, right?” Benvolio shook his head, gently tugging the knife out of her hand. “The solution is simple.”

Rosaline opened her mouth to press for answers - but then, Benvolio began knocking loudly on the door. “Hey! Someone open the door!”

Speechless, Rosaline heard footsteps - loud and bumbling - before the door swung open. “Hey, Ben - what’re you doing in here?” He turned and spotted Rosaline, a little grin blooming on his face. “Ros! Look at that - didn’t think Ben had it in him.”

Benvolio grinned, clapping the other man on the back. “Romeo! Not what you think, long story, thanks for letting us out.” Romeo shrugged, shirtless and still half-asleep despite it being almost 5 in the evening. Rosaline shook her head, the warmth in her chest rising higher to her cheeks, as Romeo buried his head in the refrigerator. 

She followed Benvolio out of the pantry, snatching up her phone from the kitchen counter. “So you’re telling me - you didn’t think to do that - like ten minutes ago?” The embarrassment of Romeo’s _implication_  still hovered, switching quickly to irritation. She lowered her voice and moved closer to him. “Were you trying to  _sabotage  - “_

Benvolio sighed, shook his head, and held her by the shoulders again, bringing his eyes in line with hers. “No. I want this party to succeed. I want our houses to get along. I want to be able to organize date functions and mixers without the police coming.” His face softened and Rosaline felt herself relaxing just slightly. “I like working with you, and I like spending time with you. And you just needed a quick break.”

The air rushed out of her all at once and Rosaline shook her head. “You’re the worst.” She didn’t really mean it, probably meant the exact opposite, and Benvolio knew. He smirked.

“You too, Ros. You too.”


	9. i do know some things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I do know some things.” + Smut, basically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW, although it kind of fades to black. Mentions of sexual activities, but nothing terribly explicit.

When Benvolio pauses to lift and carry her over the threshold of their bedroom, Rosaline laughs.

And his stomach flips.

He kicks the door shut.

He may be experienced, but he has never experienced _this_ , with _her_ , so when he slowly releases Rosaline, letting her back onto her feet right beside the bed, he pauses. “Rosaline - “

She kisses him.

“Don’t speak.” Her lips are on his again and he’s gladly willing to comply. Holding her, he brings her closer to his chest; but Rosaline, hands on his chest, pushes back - and he falls, onto the bed.

“Rosaline - “

“What did I say about talking?” She lifts up her skirts - too many, and Benvolio has every intention of removing them - and kneels on the bed, his knee between her legs. Kissing him again, she whispers. “I know you - you have - _experience - “_

This time, when leans back to look straight into her eyes, he smiles fondly. “I want this experience _with you_ , Capulet.” Her eyes brighten and she turns to let him untie her dress. As his fingers fumble over the knots, he distracts himself by kissing her shoulders, her neck. “You lead, Rosaline. I’ll follow.”

Slowly clothes fall to the floor - mainly hers, but a chunk of his as well - and their lips are too busy to complain much. Her skin is soft beneath his fingers and he finds it difficult to _not_  touch her. 

But what he finds most difficult, once she’s removed his shirt and she kneels on the bed before him in only her undergarments, is remember how to breathe.

The sunset had begun only moments ago, so the last slivers of sunlight hit in jagged edges across their chambers - but they highlight her, so she glows, and his pale hand contrasts sharply against her skin, running down her arms, across her collar bone, down her stomach. When she kisses, she kisses with fervor and fire - he’s been aflame for too long now, sparked by her cutting words and secret smiles, but now he’s finally _burning_. And she burns right along side him, nails sliding across his back.

“What do you need?” he asks, whispers beside her ear, spirals against her skin.

“You.”

His mouth discards words in favor for breathing her, tongue running across her teeth and his hand firmly gripping her hip. She gently pushes him backwards. “You’ll let me lead, my love?” she says, her mouth dipping down his chest. 

Benvolio only nods, watching her, his finger tangled in her curls.

“I may not be as experienced as you,” she says, her hands running down his thighs and under his pants as she pulls them off. “But I do know some things.”

And Rosaline smirks.

Benvolio’s head falls back onto the pillows and he groans, thanking all the Gods this woman fell in love with him too.


	10. Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: "I'm going to take care of you, okay?" and "You're safe now. I've got you."

All he sees is green.

The harsh dust swirling around them blinds him, but somehow Benvolio focuses on her - on her green dress, swirling in the chaos and wind, on her hands reaching for him. Her fingers catch on his forearm and he holds onto her wrist. Together, they slip past the restless crowd, the fire still burning behind their backs.

When the slide into the shadows in the alley, Benvolio turns to her. “We’re safe now.” Frowning, he studies her - she looking past him, her fingers slightly shaking against him. “I’ve got you, my lady.”

Rosaline shakes her head. “This isn’t good.” Her eyes dart around, absorbing and searching, and Benvolio rest his hands on her shoulders.

“Livia is safe,” he says, turning Rosaline so she can see her sister, surrounded by Capulet guards, stuck to Lady Capulet’s side. “But we need to - “

His breath dies on his lips because all he sees is white and red, swirling and dancing, and absolute pain radiating quickly from his side. Vaguely, he thinks he hears Rosaline scream, but his fingers hold his ribs - there’s warm and red coating them, and the blood smells like a night just weeks ago, with Mercutio in his arms - whispering - 

“ _Lord Montague_ ,” says his attacker, his blade waving in front of Benvolio’s face. His voice drips with acid. “Of course scum such as yourself would be taking advantage of lady amidst the chaos.” 

The red from the pain shifts to anger, to embarrassment tinted with rage. Rosaline’s hands tug at his arm, but all he sees is this man - face contorted and sword raised - staring at him like he is a piece of cow shit.

Benvolio stares at the attacker and sees only his Uncle.

Perhaps if his side wasn’t aching, a tiny stream of flood still coating his fingers - perhaps if his attacker wasn’t approaching closer, Benvolio’s own blood reflecting off his blade in the sunlight - perhaps if there was not dust in his lungs and blind rage in his eyes -

Perhaps then he would have realized Rosaline no longer stood behind him, but behind the attacker, a large wooden block in her hands.

Rosaline slams the block onto the attacker’s head - and while the man doesn’t fall, he does scream, his hand quickly rising to feel the impact - but Rosaline hits him _again,_ and this time he crumples onto the ground.

Benvolio blinks.

Rosaline drops her weapon.

After a pause, she jumps over the stilled body to reach for him. “It’s fine,” she says and Benvolio isn’t quite sure who she addresses, but he nods. “You’re fine.” 

Without protest, he lets her move clothes out of the way to study his injury - it doesn’t feel as bad anymore, even as blood dries between his nails. Her hair has fallen out of its careful arrangement and now frames her face, which glows despite the chaos still swirling behind them. 

She’s covered in dirt and ash, muttering under her breath, with her tattered dress sweeping against the ground.

She’s beautiful.

Rosaline doesn’t look at him while she works. Benvolio can’t look away. “I’m going to take care you,” she says to his injury, which now looks more like a minor cut than a stab wound. And when her fingers brush against his skin, he thinks he stops bleeding entirely. 

And when she finally looks at him, hard eyes and hair flying in the breeze, with a small smile, Benvolio breathes easier.

When he closes his eyes, all he sees is green.


	11. Wow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Rosvolio + "Wow"

 When Rosaline reads, she bites her lip.

It’s a detail Benvolio had only just begun to notice as they begin to spend more time together. For instance, now, where they sit in the Montague gardens waiting for the Uncles to summon them for supper. In the meantime, they are to - bond.

Benvolio almost laughs. He glances sideways at Rosaline, his intended, who’s hair frames her face, her teeth chewing on her lip. Glowing in the sunlight, her feet sway beneath her, the white bench she sits on clashing violently with the colorful flowers surrounding them both. 

No, he and Rosaline have not bonded in the way their uncles may have wished. Instead, they sit in silence, Rosaline reading and Benvolio staring, as they wait for the privacy and cover of nightfall so they can move forward with their schemes.

A way out.

But, meanwhile, Rosaline continues to read and Benvolio continues to watch.

Benvolio tilts his head; the lines of her jaw are hidden beneath the shadows of her curls, but her eyes - flittering across pages, bright and warm - glow under the highlights of the sun. His fingers itch towards his pocket - and he pulls out a mess of half-papers.

“What are you doing?” Rosaline looks at him, eyebrow raised and slightly frowning. 

Benvolio feels his face warm. “I - “ He blinks as a light breeze tosses a strand of her hair away from her cheek. “Stay still.”

Of course, she bristles, sitting straighter. “ _Montague - “_

 _“_ Capulet,” he responds with the same exasperation and irritation. His face softens, however, when he lifts up a piece of charcoal. “Just stay still, please?”

A pause, where she glares, fingers clenching her book tightly and her lips thin - but then Rosaline sighs, her eyes dropping back to the words in front of her.

And so, Benvolio draws. He outlines her face and hair, careful not to smudge the careful shadows of her curls or stain her teeth in charcoal as he matches her mouth to the one on his paper. His eyes dancing between his subject and his art, Benvolio admires the way the corner of her lips tug upwards when her eyes widen in delight, and the way her head tilts quickly to the side when she turns a page. There’s routine, but there’s also details. When Benvolio almost finishes, Rosaline lays the book in her lap and pulls back her hair, letting air cool her neck - and he hisses.

“Stop moving, Capulet!” Confusion quickly turns to annoyance, but to his relief, she does not protest. Instead, she shakes the hair back to its original messy state. Benvolio quickens his strokes, hoping to capture every crevice of the light against her skin before she has a chance to ruin everything.

Finally, he stops.

“Finished, then?” Rosaline has stopped reading by now, book closed and set aside. Instead, her eyes flicker between his face and the paper in his lap, now covered in her likeness. 

If he’s honest with himself, this may be his best work. But even then, when she scoots forward, fully intending to see, Benvolio pulls his art closer to his chest.

Rosaline bites her lip again and he is momentarily distracted. “Are you so untalented that you are this embarrassed?” She stands, walking over to his bench across the gardens, and sits right beside him. The sun may have moved too, for he feels like he may melt. “If I remained still enough for you to draw, surely you must let me see it.”

Benvolio glares. He wants to say no, run away, tear up the drawing all together - but she’s right beside him. Her mouth smiles softly and her eyes - they are determined and curious, intrigued and - _hopeful._

Swallowing, he hands over the drawing.

As is habit now, Benvolio watches her. He watches her lips part slightly as her thumb lightly caresses the paper as if trying to absorb the charcoal, but not close enough to cause smudges. “Wow,” she says, breathlessly, and Benvolio cannot help but imagine how she would sound and look saying the same word under a cover of night and lust instead of surrounded by flowers and sun. Her eyes flash to his and the corners of her lips tug upwards. “This is - wow. You are very talented.”

He looks down, at the grass tickling his boots. He rubs his neck. “Thank you, Rosaline.” Her name falls out of his lips like tiny clovers, scattered at her feet, a prayer of devotion he hasn’t quite thought about but is completely faithful to. 

Rosaline leans into him, her ribs resting along his. Her hair smells of lavender. “Thank _you_ , Benvolio.” He has to look at her, watch her, because her voice is soft and she is very close. Her hand reaches out and lies on top of his; the charcoal staining his fingers acts as a bridge between her skin and his.

And when she smiles, magnetic eyes dancing like stars in the nighttime, Benvolio realizes that if he thought her pretty before - as she read, concentrated and enthralled - now, with her focus on _him,_ with her joy because of _him_  - 

Now, he believes she’s absolutely beautiful.


	12. The Sunglasses Emoji

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: "It’s four A.M." & “If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were jealous.”
> 
> Part of the Greek AU, I guess?

When her phone rings, Rosaline groans and doesn’t pick it up. Instead, she buries her head in her pillow and pulls up the blanket.

But then it rings again.

“Fuck,” she swears, picking it up, swearing _again_  at the caller id, and pressing it to her ear. “It’s four am. What the fuck do you want?”

“ _Rooooosaline!”_ Romeo practically sings. There’s laughter and shouting in the background, and she thinks she can vaguely pick out loud music. “My lovely lady Rosaline - who’s as dark and pretty as the night sky - “

She groans, tuning out his attempts at slurred poetry. “Romeo, give the phone to Benvolio.”

“But my _lady_  - “

“Now.”

There’s the sound of bumbling hands, and perhaps the phone is dropped - Rosaline massages her temples and sits up. A new voice reaches her. “CAPULET!”

Her groan is louder this time. “Mercutio. You are not Benvolio.”

“Nope,” he says, popping the _p_ , and likely smirking widely. “I’m better.”

Rosaline rolls her eyes at no one. “It’s late. _Actually_ , it’s early. I’m tired. Give the damn phone to Benvolio.” 

“Can’t.” Mercutio whispers something, probably to Romeo and laughs, loudly and brightly. “It appears Benvolio is - otherwise occupied.”

“He’s drunk?” Rosaline frowns, slightly suspicious. “Since when are _you_ the sober one?”

“Oh I am definitely _not_  sober. Just less drunk.” Mercutio laughs again, yelling something about _Benny boy_ and _a room_  and _stop blushing you’re embarrassing all of us. “_ But like I said, Ben’s busy with - “ He stops talking and Rosaline sighs. “Yo, Ben! What’s her name? Stella?” The phone returns to his ear, probably, and Rosaline feels her heart stall momentarily. “He’s busy with Stella. What do you need, darling Ros?”

Rosaline tries her best to keep her voice level. “Go home, Mercutio. Take Romeo and Ben with you. It’s late and he has to be at the meeting in the morning.”

“Who, _Romeo_?” Mercutio smirks, she can tell, and she slams her head back onto her pillow.

“ _No_ ,” she says through gritted teeth. “Benvolio.”

“Oh, so you want me to interrupt his make-out sesh with Stella?”

“No,” she says, taking in a deep breath. She has to be the calm one, she reminds herself. It won’t do for her to join Livia and Isabella in trying to make his life miserable. “I want you three to go home. So Benvolio goes home. Because he won’t go home unless you two go home.”

“If I didn't know any better,” says Mercutio, voice lowered, and Rosaline should probably take that as a warning, “I'd say you were jealous.”

“ _No_.” Her voice is firm, she hopes, even as her fingers clench tightly on her sheets. 

Mercutio laughs. “Whatever you say, Ros. Oh, here we go, let me give Romeo his phone back so he can tell you about - “

Rosaline hangs up.

(The next morning she wakes up to a text. 

_Sorry about the boys last night. Tried to stop it, but Romeo won a bet and decided to call you while I was helping a friend. Hopefully they didn’t keep you up for too long - see you at 10, right?_

The sunglasses emoji mocks her.)


	13. Her Anchor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "You're not going without me."

He stops her right before the palace gates.

“You’re not going without me.”

Rosaline doesn’t look at him - _can’t_  - because her hands shake, the book between them heavy. If she looks - if she gives him even a moment - 

“I have to,” she says instead, staring at the the flowers hidden behind bars, at the cobblestone pathway littered with puddles. The remnants of the storm remain and Rosaline feels the air stick to her skin. 

Benvolio steps in front of her; even without touching her, keeping just inches apart, she feels every inch of him - she feels his breath on her face, his fingers ghosting over her skin, his lips right by her temple. His eyes lock onto hers; her throat closes tightly and the book almost slips through her fingers.

“Rosaline - ” Her name falls from his lips so easily, without hesitation or cracks, the confidence of each syllable only marred by the breathlessness with which he speaks. Eyes falling to his mouth, she bites her lip. She wants to kiss him, so badly, but if she feared looking at him, the thought of kissing him terrifies her.

Because then he would kiss back.

And her heart, already cracked, would crumble entirely.

Rosaline can’t let that happen.

“Montague,” she says, finishing his breath. His jaw ticks. “I need to do this.”

Benvolio doesn’t move, his eyes flickering across her face as if he’s trying to memorize each wrinkle and twitch. “Not alone. You aren’t alone.”

And despite herself, her lips quirk upwards. “I know.” She lets her hand settle on his cheek, to feel the stubble tickle her palm. “I have you.”

Leaning forward, he rests his forehead against hers. He closes his eyes. She doesn’t. “You’ll always have me, Ros,” he says. “Please don’t forget that.”

“I won’t.”

He’s so close - it’s too much, being this close, with Benvolio in her space, in her heart, his hands sliding down her arms, fingers hovering over hers. He touches her without skin, caresses without touch. Even when she feels like burning, Rosaline feels so terribly cold.

His lips hover over hers. If she puckers, just a twitch - if he moves, not even an inch - 

Her heart clenches so tightly, and instead of his lips, she tastes her own tears in the corner of her mouth. 

When Rosaline lets out a tiny gasp, the failed result of holding back sobs, Benvolio’s hands finally grip hers, fingers tangled together, but - the cracks in her heart have already shattered to pieces - and she floats away - 

“Ros, please - “

She steps back, several paces, until only their index fingers remain curled together. The callouses are her anchor.

“I love you.” His hand falls and she turns her back completely to the palace, facing him so she can see him in the dim street lighting. The shadows embrace him, claim him, but his eyes - his eyes have always been the brightest. “ _I love you_.”

Without waiting for a response, she turns around, throws open the gates, and doesn’t look back.


	14. A Compliment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Are you wearing my shirt?” Modern AU

When Rosaline exits the shower, Benvolio raises an eyebrow. “Are you wearing my shirt?”

Sending him a quick glance, she shrugs. “Yeah. Needed something to wear out of the shower.” She bends down to access a drawer and Benvolio bites his lip, admiring the view.

She’s _only_  wearing his shirt.

“It looks good on you.”

Rosaline rolls her eyes, but hides her smile. Walking over to the nightstand beside the bed, she taps his bare chest. “Wow, a compliment? Thank you.”

“But you know where it’d look better?” Rosaline raises her eyebrow, but before she can say anything - he grabs her hand and pulls. Crashing against the bed, Rosaline squeaks, her minor protest of his name ignored. Instead, he pulls her again and this time she falls onto him, stomach against his, hand braced by his head on the pillows.

Before she catch his breath, Benvolio spins so he’s on top of her. Her panting and giggles mix with his; she smells like her shampoo and his deodorant and it sends shivers straight down his spine.

He lowers himself, so she’s boxed in, and her fingers travel up his chest to rest on his bare shoulders. She plays with the hair on the back of his neck and he growls, his hands running down her sides.

“You really do like me in your shirt, huh?” she whispers and he takes satisfaction in how irregular her breathing is. In fact, when he lifts himself to kiss down her stomach, she groans, arching up into him.

Smirking, he tugs at her shirt again. “Yes.” She grins and he kisses it off her, biting her bottom lip as his fingers slip under the fabric. Her skin is warm. “But it’d look even better on the floor.”

Rosaline laughs, shaking under his touch and when his thumb runs under her rib cage her face softens. “Well then, you better get to work.”

Benvolio grins and obliges.


	15. The Look

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Were you ever going to tell me?” Teacher AU.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

Rosaline looks up from her desk, papers scattered in semi-tidy piles and pens lined up in rainbow order. “Tell you what?”

Benvolio, closing the door to her classroom behind him, now leans against it, arms crossed. His face is serious. “You’re incorporating an art history unit at the end of the school year,” he says, crossing arms now and stalking slowly towards her desk on the opposite side of the room. “And you didn’t think to maybe ask the art teacher for help?”

Rolling her eyes, Rosaline returns back to the tests in front of her. “You’re interrupting my grading time.”

“Bell’s gonna ring in one minute.”

“Exactly.”

Of course, rather than listening, he pulls a chair from a students’ desk and spins it around as he sits. Leaning against the back of the chair, Benvolio peers at the papers on her desk. “I thought you finished Byzantium a while ago. Aren’t you doing imperialism now? I had a kid doing your homework in my class yesterday.”

Rosaline glances at him briefly. “The test was cumulative.”

“Ouch.”

Shrugging, Rosaline flips over the three tests she’s grading and her key. “Spaced practice.”

The bell rings, loud and obnoxious, and Rosaline sighs as she drops her pen and turns to him fully. “Did you need something? Don’t you have a class?”

“Nah.” Benvolio scoots his chair forward as the classroom door opens and the first students trickle in. “Just let me know if you help with the art history unit.”

“I won’t.”

Grinning, Benvolio nods before standing and returning his chair. When a student runs up to him - “Mr. Montague! I think I figured out what I’m going to do for my sculpture project!” - he beams, having a quick conversation before catching Rosaline’s eye. “Alright, but you better get ready before Ms. Capulet marks you tardy for not having your pencil out.”

The student chuckles and Rosaline rolls her eyes. “Mr. Montague - “

“I’m leaving!” he says, hands up in surrender and Rosaline tries to ignore how many of her students are trying not to laugh. Benvolio mock-whispers to the group of students who just enter. “Try not to give her too hard of a time, okay? She’s upset you all did so well on her test.”

Rosaline crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow as a smirking Benvolio slips out the door. 

The student beside her grins. “So you two are dating, right?”

Rosaline gives him the  _look_.


	16. Kiss Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "just do this for me and I’ll do anything you want" for International Kiss Day

 

If it were any other night, with anything else on his mind, he may have had second thoughts picking  _her_.

But, frankly, she’s the first person he sees. Unfortunately.

“Ugh,  _you,”_ says Rosaline the moment he appears. Rolling his eyes, Benvolio steps in front of her, blocking her from view of the door. “What the hell do you think - ”

“Stay still, Capulet.” Benvolio glances backward - Mercutio and Romeo still scan the crowd, which means he still has some time. “I need a favor.”

Rosaline frowns. “And why should I do anything for you?” She steps closer, eyes hard and focused on his. “Is this to get back at me for the thing with the pineapples?”

He’s not really listening to her, especially as Mercutio shouts his name. Several people glance over at him, but the music is loud and distracting enough that they quickly forget. Mercutio and Romeo split the crowd, heading straight for him. Benvolio whips back around, pushing Rosaline back against a wall. 

In the shadows of the dark club lighting, they wouldn’t recognize her. He hopes.

“What the hell - ”

“I need you to kiss me.” He says it in a rush, his head pounding. This is a stupid idea, he knows that, but he’s here and he’s said it now and - “Please, just do this for me and I’ll do anything you want, okay?”

Rosaline opens her mouth - and Benvolio prepares himself for the coming retort, the denial, the insult - but instead she says nothing. Casting a glance behind his shoulder, she straightens. 

The only warning he has is a quick nod before Rosaline grabs the front of his shirt and kisses him.

At first, he’s shocked. Of course, he  _asked_  her to do this - but for her to actually  _do it_  - but then blood begins flowing. Her lips are soft. She tastes like lemon and tequila and he swallows salt along with her breaths. Her fingers loosen just slightly on his shirt, but only enough so that one of her hands snake around his neck.

And when she pulls him closer, Benvolio goes. He melts into her, bracing himself against the wall, letting his teeth graze her lip, letting her tongue push apart his lips, letting her twirl his hair around her fingers. He lets her capture him in this kiss, because somewhere in the back of his mind he understands that is the best kiss he’s ever had.

And one that will likely never happen again.

So Benvolio enjoys it. He enjoys wrapping an arm around her waist so her chest joins his, so he can feel her uneven breathing and hear her moans vibrate against his teeth. For a second, her lips miss his, so he continues - kissing her along her jaw, dipping down to her neck, sucking at her collarbone. She pants, doesn’t push him away or tell him to stop, and he kisses and kisses and kisses.

He should stop. He doesn’t want to.

At some point, her leg slides up his. And she moves up against him, and he groans - blood rushing from his head, straight down his stomach, nerves set on fire - 

He’s burning and burning and burning, and he doesn’t want to stop.

“Ben - ” she whispers into his lips when she’s recaptured them, not that he’s unwilling. 

“Ros,” he whisper backs, his fingers lingering over the hem of her shirt.

The shadows hiding them retreat for the briefest moments.

And suddenly, in the light, he can see her face.

Rosaline doesn’t blush, but she glows, eyes bright and shining. Her lips curve upwards, just slightly, enough that he can feel his heart filling with the feel of her fingers running up and down his arms. 

Benvolio wants to kiss her again.

But, Rosaline pushes back, straightening her blouse - wrinkled and ridden up from where his hands eagerly explored the skin of her hips and ribs - and flattening her hair. As she bites down on her swollen lip, Benvolio realizes that if he had the option, he’d never want to kiss anyone else.

Rosaline moves her head to look behind him. “They’ve gone.”

Benvolio blinks. Slowly, he turns; indeed, Romeo and Mercutio have disappeared. Sighing, he faces Rosaline again. Part of him expects her to avoid his eyes; but, of course, she doesn’t - she stares straight at him. 

“So anything I want, huh?” she says, raising an eyebrow and only a hint of a smirk. God, he wants to kiss her.

Benvolio tilts his head. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” His heart beats in unsteady rhythms, out of sync and out of control, aching to be close to hers again. But he breathes deeply.

Her smirk could end wars. It ends his heart, all together, especially when she leans so close - her lips ghost over his, not touching, but feeling. If she leans just a bit closer, she would kiss the corner of his mouth. “Absolutely.”

And Rosaline walks past him, her hand lingering over his heart before she disappears into the growing crowd. He watches her go, leaning against the wall, one knee bent and arms crossed. 

Benvolio licks his lips. He tries to stop the smile tugging at his lips.

He fails.


	17. Roses and Beans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Roses for Rosaline"

“Rosaline!”

She pauses in the doorway of Juliet’s balcony, halfway outside, before turning. Livia runs up to her, beaming, a bunch of flowers in her arms.

Roses, specifically.

Frowning, Rosaline tilts her head as she walks closer to the middle of the room. “What is that - ”

“They’re for you.” Livia hands over the bundle, tied loosely together with a ribbon, shaved as much as possible of thorns. “Do you think it’s from - ”

“The Montague,” says Rosaline, only just grimacing at the piece of parchment attached. His handwriting is messier than last time - and maybe, perhaps, that means this time it’s  _actually_  written by him. As she scans his words, she’s grateful she can’t blush.

Livia, however, senses her embarrassment. “What did he say?”

Rosaline carefully folds the note and tucks it back into the ribbon. “Nothing important.”

While it’s clear Livia doesn’t believe her, her sister says nothing.

 

 

 

“ _Roses for Rosaline.”_

Benvolio stiffens. Slowly turning around, he spots her leaning against a tree in a bright blue dress and cloak, face completely unreadable. 

“I see you receive my gift.” He walks towards her, and once he can lower his voice, he whispers, “have to keep up the pretense.”

Rosaline’s lips tug upwards just slightly. “Of course.” This time, the smile overtakes her face completely. Benvolio swallows as his stomach flutters. “For whatever reason - they were nice. Very - pretty.”

“Pretty flowers for a pretty girl,” he says, before he has too much time to think about it. He can feel his face growing pink; the sun feels hotter. “I mean - ”

Rosaline waves him off, perhaps not even having heard his comment. “I have a gift for you.”

“You do?”

This smile is smaller, perhaps even coy. Carefully, she reaches out, a velvet pouch gently hanging from her fingers. “For you.”

Frowning, he takes it from her. When she raises an eyebrow at him, Benvolio sighs and opens the pouch.

He blinks. “What is this?”

Rosaline grins, stepping closer to him. He’s grateful for the shade of the tree, the shadows masking his face. Rising just slightly to her toes, Rosaline whispers into his ear. “Beans for Benvolio.”

He laughs brightly and Rosaline watches him, smiling.


	18. His Heart Cracks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Benvolio pining" + “Hmmm…Rosaline comes down with a bad cold, Ben notices while they are at some social event and mother-hen’s her until she agrees to go to bed?”

Benvolio probably should not be staring.

But, frankly, she is his  _wife_ , so it’s not like anyone would object.

So he continues to stare, between the handshakes and the pointless conversations and the deep bows that come along with these sort of events. He’s never enjoyed them - until Rosaline - but now, with her sitting in her seat and staring at her goblet, sneezing into her napkin, they seem completely unbearable.

Excusing himself from a debate between the merits of trading iron goblets and fish, Benvolio sits down beside her.

Rosaline flashes him a quick look but doesn’t say anything, returning to her stare down of the cup. Rolling his eyes, Benvolio grabs the goblet and takes a sip of the wine.

Rosaline frowns. “I was going to drink that, my Lord.”

“I wasn’t aware one could drink with their eyes, my Lady,” he says even as he returns the goblet to her. She sniffs it before taking a small sip. “I can safely say it is not poisoned.”

Rosaline scoffs. “I did not think - ”

“Then why do you just stare at it?”

Without answering, Rosaline swirls the liquid. Benvolio watches her, as a lock of hair escapes her carefully arranged updo; he can feel her shoulders caving into her heart, an attempt to shield herself, and Benvolio wants nothing more than to cradle her to his chest and protect her himself. She sneezes again.

“Do you feel well, dear Rosaline?” Reaching out, he removes the goblet from her hands and holds her fingers instead. “You have seemed - off - all day - ”

“It is nothing.” Her eyes lock onto the ballroom floor and Benvolio follows her gaze. Livia laughs, twirling in Count Paris’ arms. “Just a passing sniffle.”

“She seems very happy, your sister,” he says instead, trying a different tactic. Rosaline says nothing, but she chews her lip. Benvolio wants to kiss her. “Are you worried about the Count?”

“I am  _fine_ , Benvolio.” Her hand shakes slightly when she reaches out for the goblet. She must notices as soon as he does, because she quickly retreats her hand, fisting it into her dress.

But it’s his name that catches his attention most of all - it’s still hard, an echo of her feelings for him, he suspects, not at all welcome or warm. They are friends, of course, but he has always been  _Montague_  or  _my Lord_  - so this, this is different.

This is how he knows she truly must not be okay.

“You say my name,” he says, turning in his seat to see her completely. She looks away, but he catches her chin with his fingers, turning to see her face. “Rosaline, let me take you home. You should rest.”

“I am - ”

“Fine,” he says and it’s only the amusement at the contrast of her face - grimacing, slightly off-colored, eyes glazed over - at her determined tone that keeps the frustration at bay. “Then at least humor me, my beloved.”

He doesn’t mean to add the endearment, but when Rosaline turns to him, not frowning but not smiling, merely studying his face, she finally sighs. “Let’s go home, my love.”

Benvolio makes up only a half-lie as an excuse to escape - “my dear wife is tired, it has been a long die” - as she leans against him. His arm snakes around her waist, and he absently notes that this is the closest they have ever been. And as they get closer to their home, more and more of Rosaline’s weight rests on his shoulder.

So when they finally arrive, Rosaline buries several sneezes into her handkerchief and Benvolio swings his arms beneath her knees and cradles her to her chest. 

“What do you think - ”

“Just - let me?” Rosaline opens her mouth to object, but she shakes her head and sighs. Benvolio grins when she nuzzles his chest, breathing deeply. He hopes the quick pace of his heartbeats escapes her notice as he climbs up to their bed chambers.

His breathing only slightly steadies when he lays her down on the bed. Even as they both undress, getting ready for bed, his heart quicks - as it does on every night he lays beside her in their marriage bed, having still not explored her in the way he wishes.

But she does not wish it, so he doesn’t.

He hears Rosaline settle onto the bed before he sees her. When he turns, a single candle flickering beside her, she sighs into her pillow, eyes closed

Benvolio feels his chest ache.

The shadows disappear onto her face, as if she’s the both the sun and the moon and the stars, all at once, and when Benvolio finally settles down beside her, he doesn’t know if the warmth overtaking his body is from his own design, or from being so close to her.

Rosaline sneezes. “Ugh.”

Benvolio wants to kiss her forehead and wish her goodnight. Instead, he finds a loose curl and tucks it behind her ear. When his hand returns to curl into his chest, Rosaline looks at him.

“Thank you, Benvolio.”

He smiles. Inside, his heart cracks just a little more. “Goodnight, Rosaline.”


	19. glowing in the valley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "lyrics from Vance Joy's 'From Afar'?: 'It shouldn't come as a surprise What I'm feeling, what I'm feeling now It shouldn't come as a surprise She got darling hazel eyes'"

She finds him sitting on the a hill just outside of the city walls, knees curled up to his chest and eyes downcast. From afar, he sits as a tiny speck of black in a sea of green, mind overcome with thoughts. He is so lost in thought, in fact, that when she sinks down beside him, back in her servant dresses, he doesn’t even acknowledge her.

So they sit in silence.

Until the silence is too much.

“What’s on your mind?” she asks, fingers curling into the grass. She watches two men on horseback gallop off into the distance. 

Benvolio hugs his knees tighter. “Things.” His head turns just slightly, but Rosaline stays facing forward. “The future.”

She stretches out her legs, crossing her ankles and leaning back on her palms. The dirt is just slightly wet, but it’s cool and thankful. From this angle, she sees Benvolio’s back, how his shoulders slump, how his jaw ticks. “And what do you see in the future?”

Sighing, Benvolio leans back into the dirt, knees still bent. He watches the clear sky, no clouds, no sun. His head rests just by her hand now. “I do not know anymore.”

She wants to reach out curls her fingers into his hair. She knows now what it feels like, to hold him, to touch him, to  _kiss him_. Her heart thumps quicker in her chest. 

“I do.”

Benvolio tilts his head at her, frowning. “You do?”

Nodding, she sinks down to her side, facing him. She knows her dress is likely getting muddied and that she could just pull him up and stand and face him. But somehow, lying on the grass with Benvolio feels - right. Freer.

He turns to his side too. Mirrors.

“Yes. I do.” This time she does not resist the urge to touch him - her hand lands on his cheek, his stubble soft under her skin, her thumb running over his jaw. His eyes flicker closed for just a second - long enough for a smile to burst onto her lips. “Benvolio Montague - ”

“I thought you were - ”

Rolling her eyes, Rosaline lets her hand travel down his arm and land on his own hand. His fingers twitch under her touch. “It shouldn’t come as a surprise.”

“What shouldn’t - ” He frowns deeper; it’s adorable. “Capulet, what are you - ”

“I love you, Ben,” she says. She interlocks her fingers with his. “That shouldn’t come as a surprise.”

Apparently, it does. Benvolio opens his mouth to say something - something not intelligent, she suspects, so she saves him the trouble and kisses him.

It’s soft, the sunlight beating against them and the grass swaying in the wind. It’s awkward, with the angle and the mud and his frozen form. But Rosaline keeps kissing him, keeps moving her lips against his, until he responds, softly, then eagerly, his hand squeezes hers.

He grazes his nose against hers. “I love you too, Ros.” He laughs, brightly and chiming, his hazel eyes shining; and she wishes she could capture the moment - he, glowing in the valley, and her lips still tingling. “God, I love you too.”

She grins into his lips. “I know.”

They both lay on their backs, staring at the blue sky, hands still intertwined.


	20. Good-Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Did you notice in the promo that Rosaline leaves without any sort of cloak or anything, just her servant dress. What if Ben gives it to her when she's cold? Omg can you write a drabble based on that?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight re-imaging of a book scene.

The ground is hard and cold. And the sky is dark. 

The horses are drinking from the river and Rosaline paces by a nearby tree muttering under her breath, a small fire by her feet. But Benvolio notices her hugging herself, shoulders slighting shaking. Sighing, he pats his horse gently and walks over to her.

“Capulet,” he says, even though his footsteps are loud. She barely glances at him, still pacing and muttering. Internally willing himself some patience, he sighs. “You’re cold.”

This, it seems, stops her. Frowning and arms crossed, she glares. “Thank you for telling me what I am.” Benvolio starts to defend himself - but Rosaline leans against the trunk and sighs, resigned. “Just - ”

He understands.

So he unhooks his cloak and hands it to her. “Take it.”

Rosaline looks disgusted. “Absolutely not.”

“ _Capulet_  - ”

“ _Montague_ ,” she responds in the very same tone. She sinks to her feet, her dress cascading out. It’s like she’s a flower and her now dirtied dress are the petals. And it’s perhaps because of this image that he tilts his head and sits beside her, lying his cloak out on the ground before them.

“Why Rosaline?” he asks. He watches the horses still drink, one pausing to shake out his mane. 

Rosaline glances at him sideways before looking forward too. The half moon glows in his periphery. “My mom loved roses.” Her fingers absently run over his cloak. “Why Benvolio?”

Of course, he should be expecting the question, but somehow he’s still surprised she asks. He leans against the tree too, his head tilted towards her. “It means good-will.” Her hair sticks against the bark of the tree but she doesn’t move to fix it. To resist the urge to do it himself, he starts doodling in the dirt. “I don’t know why my parents picked it.”

Even though he’s looking at his fingers drawing patterns, he knows Rosaline looks at him.

A breeze picks that moment to dance through their campsite and Benvolio grits his teeth at the shiver that passes through him. Rosaline’s fingers tighten over his cloak. 

“Where it, Capulet,” he says, hugging his knees against his chest. It’s not the most comfortable position, but with his head resting against the trunk, he could imagine getting at least an hour or two of sleep.

Rosaline, however, shakes her head. “I have a better idea.” Frowning, he watches her stand and lift the cloak, spreading it out entirely, and laying it out on a flatter part of ground. 

Then she lies on top of it, off to the side. 

Clearly leaving room for another person to join her.

Benvolio swallows. 

Rosaline rests her head on her elbow and raises an eyebrow at him. “It will be warmer if you come here.”

He debates for a moment - she is a  _lady,_ and the trunk isn’t  _that_  uncomfortable - but another gust of wind lifts his hair into disarray, so he sighs and crawls beside her. 

He makes sure to pick the side that blocks her from the wind. If she notices, she doesn’t say anything, instead turning her back to him.

And Benvolio smiles, because even if there’s a price on his head, and he’s been accused for a murder he did not commit, and even if his chest aches with uncertainty and closeness, there is still this. There is still her.

He falls asleep counting the curls on Rosaline’s head.


	21. His Offer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU of the bathtub scene.

Rosaline knocks.

She swear she does.

But when she swings open the door to Benvolio’s hotel room bathroom, he jumps from his spot in the bathtub and yells. “Capulet!”

“Sorry! I thought you heard me knock - ” she quickly spins around to face the doorway, once again grateful for her dark complexion and its ability to hide her embarrassment.

If she can still see him through the mirror in the corner of her eye, she doesn’t say anything.

“Are you taking a  _bath_?” she asks, suddenly unable to hold back a tiny laugh. “Seriously?”

Benvolio sighs, moving soap bubbles around. “I like baths.” He sits up a little straighter, forcing Rosaline to do so too. “Do you need something?”

_It can wait,_  is what she should say. But if she’s completely honest she’s not even sure she remembers what it was she needed to tell him in the first place.

“Well?” 

Rosaline blinks, trying to focus on her hands gripping the doorframe and not how the florescent lighting hits his chest, water drops dripping down his abs -  _ripped abs_  - lowering until -

“Um,” she says, exhaling slowly. “Romeo needed you - for something - ”

“For something?” She can hear the smirk in his voice; she could see it too, but she tries to forget about that. “Could you be a bit more specific?”

Rosaline narrows her eyes at his reflection. “He was very vague on the phone.”

“He called you?”

“You didn’t pick up.”

There’s sloshing of water and when Rosaline braves another peak, she sees him getting ready to stand.

She should look away.

She doesn’t.

Instead, she watches him out the corner of her eye - and it’s an impressive view, even she’d admit, especially when he grabs his towel and runs it through his hair, messing it up even further. When he glances up at her, however, she quickly looks at the floor.

“You take baths often?” she asks, because if she’s talking maybe she won’t think  _too_ much about - 

“They’re better with company.” 

Rosaline stiffens; he’s right behind her and the heat of him mixed with the steam hits her immediately. She can hear him smirking, can see him leaning closer, can feel him - “if you wanna better view next time, just let me know.”

And Benvolio squeezes past her, out of the bathroom, and Rosaline stands there, gripping the doorframe, wondering why she’s even  _considering_  taking him up on his offer.


	22. Masterpiece

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "A real picnic date with Benvolio drawing in the sun"

Rosaline squints up at him, using a hand to block the sun from her vision. His lap is not uncomfortable, but he’s clearly straining to keep his notepad from hitting her face. “What are you drawing?”

“You.”

Benvolio doesn’t look at her, pen on paper, sand somehow on his cheek. Rosaline brushes it off, her own toes digging deeper into the sand beneath their blanket. With their friends off in the ocean, Rosaline lets her fingers over his face, down his checkered jawline, across his neck and collar - down his bare chest, stopping to curl her hand around his side.

“Ben - ”

“Almost done.”

Rosaline bites her lip, an effort to stop a fond smile, instead lying on her back instead, watching Livia jump onto Mercutio’s back in the water. “It’s the beach. You’re going to have to get into the water sometime.”

“And I will,” he says, chewing slightly on his lip. His frown deepens for a second before - Rosaline can see the exact moment something clicks, because his face softens and his eyes brighten and his pencil scratches quicken. “As - soon - as - ” He stops. Grinning, he drops the pencil on his bag and tilts his head. “It’s done.”

Rosaline sits up, her thigh stuck to his, her right arm curling behind his neck, her elbow on his shoulder. Benvolio moves the pad closer to her, so she can see, but she knows without looking that her eyes are really on her face, waiting for her reaction.

Rosaline blinks. “Why can’t I see me the way you see me?” Her finger outlines her likeness, where she lies lazily in the sun, sunglasses on her face and one leg bent. Water splashes frame her blanket, tiny dots playing in the ocean, but somehow - even in black and white - she can see the bright yellows and blues, as if the real sunlight has colored his sketch. She looks back at him, beaming. “Every time.”

Benvolio kisses her softly, letting his nose graze hers. “It’s easy to draw beautiful things.”

Rosaline grins during the second kiss. “Now put that away so we can get wet.”

“I can think of better ways of getting wet...”

Rosaline shoves him into the sand; when she tries to do it again, Benvolio’s laughter echoing in the sunlight, he grabs her, throws her over the shoulder, and runs them both into the ocean.

When Rosaline resurfaces, laughing and splashing him with water, she understands what he means - right there, with Benvolio dripping wet and grinning wide, the sun turning his hair brown and his eyes matching the hues of the ocean, she believes even she could draw a masterpiece too.


	23. Glorious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "and now I see the sunrise"

Benvolio only notices how much his wrists hurt when he stands in front of the crowd.

They yell, insults and threats, all blended together into an incomprehensible mess that washes over him. It’s easy to ignore how much everyone hates him - especially when he sees  _her_ , a sob wracking through her body, eyes only for him.

His lips still tingle, the taste of her on his tongue, the feel of her hair itching between his fingers. 

But his wrists hurt.

His heart, however, beats steady.

Because Benvolio knows - he knows when Rosaline stares at him, gaze almost never wavering, eyes glittering with tears. He should look away, and he does for a brief moment, but he finds himself drawn to her - unsurprising, for it’s been weeks since their lives collided, and every moment since then seems like it’s meant for  _them_  - for Ben and Ros, for him and her. 

The sun is high in the sky. But he did not sleep, not a wink, because behind his eyes he replays that moment -  _I trust you_  whispered from her lips, her hand resting heavy on his arm, a collision of lips and tongue and teeth and limbs. Because Benvolio could not -  _can not_  - get enough of her, not when she’s so eager to be with him too.

_I trust you_.

His heart beats faster.

His head is lowered. His wrists still hurt, but when he cranes his neck - because he has to see her, there’s nothing else worth seeing - that hurts too. The guillotine is rough, rock and wood, but Rosaline cries and Benvolio stares. Her eyes are glorious; the memory of her kiss is even better.

If nothing else, this is worth it - for her. And perhaps that realization, that if death must take him, right then and there, for no fair reason - at least, the sun will still rise, the days will still pass, and there is  _hope_.

Benvolio sends her a small, sad smile. Rosaline cries harder.

Benvolio closes his eyes. Her smile lights up behind his eyelids.


	24. You're My Blanket Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Benvolio hogging (taking) all the blanket at night which leads to some interesting developments"

Rosaline shivers.

Groaning, she reaches behind her, hoping to latch onto her husband’s arm or something to pull the covers tighter around her. But it’s at this point, in the pitch black, she realizes that her legs are bare.

Blinking rapidly, she turns around to face the center of the bed.

Benvolio, fast asleep, lies sprawled across the bed on his stomach, wrapped tightly in the covers. All the covers. Only his feet - buried beneath her calves - stick out.

Rosaline frowns. She pulls the blanket free from under his shoulder. As she does so, Benvolio follows - his arm wraps around her and Rosaline almost squeaks when she’s suddenly pulled all the way towards him. “Wht’re you doing?” he asks sleepily, voice muffled by the pillows.

Rosaline rolls her eyes, legs curling around his hips. “You were hogging the covers, Montague.”

“Hmm.” Benvolio moves towards her and Rosaline tries again to tug more of the blanket free, this time twisting her upper body, since she’s half trapped beneath her husband. “Stop moving.”

“Stop hogging.”

Instead of listening, Benvolio pulls  _back_  - and the little bit of blanket Rosaline had won slips through her fingers. Tucking the corner under his chest, he returns his arm around her again. 

Rosaline tries to shove him off her. “ _Ben_  - it’s  _cold_  - ”

“Then stop moving.”

Closing her eyes, she exhales. It’s late, she’s tired, she’s  _cold_  - and when she opens her eyes, Benvolio smiles, clearly more awake. Rosaline says nothing, just narrows her eyes.

Benvolio grins wider.

But before Rosaline can launch another attempt at freeing herself, Benvolio turns, laying on his back, pushing the covers off himself too. Without a word, he arranges her on top of him - her head on his chest, leg over his waist, his hand resting on her back.

His heartbeat fills her ears.

Her fingers curl into his bare chest. 

“What are you doing?” she asks, lips against his sternum.

Benvolio pulls the blankets back over both of them this time, tucking the edge right under her butt. “Giving you the blanket.” Rosaline moves to lift her head up, but Benvolio uses his chin to stop her. “You’re my blanket now.”

Rosaline bites her lip. She kisses his chest.

She counts his heartbeats and quickly falls back asleep.


	25. Owe Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "modern fake dating au" + "rosvolio at livbella's wedding"

“You owe me one.”

Benvolio looks up from his laptop, frowning in surprise at Rosaline Capulet sliding into the chair across from him at his previously otherwise empty table. The diner continues moving around them, but Rosaline has her hands folded in front of her, eyes locked onto him.

“I do,” he says, slowly, lowering his screen. “Are you about to cash in?”

“My sister’s getting married.”

Benvolio blinks. “Yes, I know.” Now he shuts his laptop completely, pushing it aside. He mirrors her, elbows on the table, leaning in. “I was there, remember? Designed the rings - plural - and everything.”

Rosaline rolls her eyes. “I  _know_  that - that’s not - ” she closes her eyes, likely gathering herself, before the calm and business-like poise returns. “I need you to pretend to be my date to the engagement party.”

Tilting his head, Benvolio raises an eyebrow. A heartbeat passes, and he recalls  _that_  night - her lips on his, his hands riding up her thighs, the music pounding in his ears and blooding rushing down to his - 

“Okay.”

Rosaline opens her mouth but closes it. Then she narrows her eyes. “Okay?”

“Okay.” He shrugs. “I owe you one.” He hopes he isn’t blushing. “I keep my promises.”

Slowly, Rosaline nods, face and body relaxing. “Okay.”

“Can I just ask - ” Benvolio slides his laptop back to him. “Why do you need a date so badly? Livia and Isabella both know you’re single.”

When Rosaline starts twirling hair around her finger and chewing her lip, Benvolio focuses on the finger and tries not to let amusement escape to his mouth. “Uh, about that - ” Benvolio raises an eyebrow and Rosaline sighs, glancing at the ceiling in a silent prayer. With a groan, she gathers her hair back before letting all her curls lose; they fall to her shoulders in ripples. “I may have told Livia that I’ve been seeing someone. Just - to get her - off my back.”

Benvolio doesn’t bother to hide his grin. “Really?”

“She was getting really pushy, especially right before the engagement - and so I just - made up something about meeting someone online - ” Rosaline shrugs, but he notices her fingers tangled together in her lap. “It was stupid, and I really quickly made up  _another_  lie about us breaking up, but I did it, and now - now Livia insists I’m going to die alone, so - I just - I just need your help.”

This time, Benvolio grins, but he softens. “I’m happy to be of service.” His face turns serious, maybe, because Rosaline rolls her eyes. “But if Livia tries throwing a chair at me again, I’m out.”

Rosaline shakes her head. “And if you try to kiss me again,  _I’m_  out.” Her nose wrinkles as she stands, straightening out her shirt. “Definitely don’t want to relive that experience.”

And before Benvolio can defend himself - argue her point that she  _definitely_  enjoyed it, maybe even more than he did - she’s gone.

So Benvolio decides he’ll just have to prove her wrong.


	26. Dance With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "rosvolio at livbella's wedding"

“Dance with me.”

Rosaline raises an eyebrow at her boyfriend, his hand outstretched and wide grin on his face. “You’re serious.” He nods, wiggling his fingers. Biting back a smile, Rosaline sighs. “Fine, fine.”

Benvolio’s grin is contagious, however, especially when her hand joins his, fingers intertwined. She laughs when the song switches - and Benvolio pumps his fist in the air. “Please tell me you didn’t request this.”

Benvolio spins her around so they’re chest to chest. Behind his shoulder, Rosaline spots her sister and her bride, swaying quietly despite the upbeat tempo of the music. Benvolio kisses her temple. “I didn’t request this.”

“You lying to me, Montague?”

“Of course, Capulet.”

When she swings out, arms stretched, Rosaline lets herself be pulled into his chest again. Her feet already hurt - she’s been standing all day, running around completing her maid of honor duties - but Benvolio’s hand resting on her waist and his thumb drawing lazy circles against her own seem to reenergize her. The song switches again, slightly slower, and her free hand circles his neck.

“Why can’t I see Mercutio anywhere?” 

Benvolio glances around before shaking his head. The fond smile on his face is cute. “Probably ran off with one of Escalus’ friends. I  _told_  him to stay away from the Princes’ relatives - but it’s Merc, so - ”

Rosaline grins. “Considering Esc and Stella ran off the moment Liv and Isabella cut the cake, I don’t think anyone cares.”

“Still.” Benvolio leans into her hair and Rosaline kisses the inch of jaw she can reach. “I love you. And your whole crazy family.”

“I love you too.” Her cheek rests just beside his collar bone - his heart beats steady, almost in time to the beats. The vibrations of his breathes are soothing, calming. “Your crazy family though I could probably do without.”

“Don’t let Romeo hear you say that.”

Rosaline grins into his shirt. Collar un-buttoned and tie long discarded, Benvolio is unmade and relaxed and Rosaline melts into him. This is good. Safe. Warm.

“Are you falling asleep on me, Ros?”

“No.”

“Are you lying?”

Rosaline looks up at him, with his half-smile and scruffy face and hazel eyes dancing in the glow of the lights. “Not yet. Can’t leave before the brides.”

Benvolio turns them so he can get a view - Livia curling her finger around Isabella’s hair and Isabella tracing the lace of Livia’s dress. Rosaline gives them maybe another five minutes before they make their escape.

“I give them another ten.” When Rosaline grins, Benvolio kisses her. “Which is just about the amount of patience I have left.”

“Is that so?” Rosaline lets her fingers sneak down his shirt. Slowly, she untucks it. “And what, exactly, has got you all eager?”

“You.” Benvolio stares at her - full on, without wavering, and Rosaline finds her heart expands just a little more. “Always you.”

Rosaline kisses him, with lips and heart, and when Livia and Isabella finally make their grand escape - into a tunnel of bubbles and a silver car covered in ribbons - she squeezes Benvolio’s hand and drags him back to their hotel room.


End file.
